


To Kiss and Control

by DizzyJae



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-18
Updated: 2010-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyJae/pseuds/DizzyJae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[[Shameless PWP, written late at night when I was struck by inspiration]]</p><p>There are tendrils of hair that have worked free of Arthur's immaculate style, plastered to his forehead and he is overwhelming. His cheeks are red and his eyes are dark and everything about him screams "fuck me," even if his mouth isn't. And Eames will, because he would be absolutely batshit insane not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Kiss and Control

**Author's Note:**

> Can also be found at my new LJ here:
> 
> http://the-blondiee.livejournal.com/866.html#cutid1

The sexiest thing for him is having Arthur’s lips hovering open just above his, breathing heavily, swollen from seconds before. It’s a time when Arthur lets him in, lets him come into the bubble, lets him touch and taste and appreciate the body because it has been neglected for so long. Arthur is straddling him, shirt unbuttoned, chests nearly touching, mimicking the distance of their lips. His skin is hot and so is his breath, ragged and filled with need. It’s so close; HE is so close, that it’s almost too much. But Eames loves the tension; he loves the feeling of want while they’re not quite touching and the desire that clouds in Arthur’s eyes as he looks down at him through hooded eyelids. Eames grinds his groin upwards, meeting Arthur’s own erection, making the slender man moan softly. That noise, its source so close, it would take nothing to connect their lips in a filthy, torrid kiss. But he won’t do it. He knows too well how easily he could get lost in that mouth, how quickly his need would grow and how soon they both would finish. He won’t do it, at least not yet.

 It had been a hard job. The mark was smart. They had limited time. The adrenaline surged through them and Eames had had the pleasure of being grazed by a bullet, courtesy of the projections chasing after them. He had woken up breathless, his heart thumping in his ears and raw energy coursing through his veins. He had rushed himself back to the hotel room, taking no notice of other members of the team, simply trying to get a grip on reality, simply trying to keep himself from bursting at the seams. Danger excited Eames. It excited him more than he could bear by himself. When he got there, Arthur was waiting for him. This is how it was. Eames didn’t sweat the details, like how it started or even how Arthur managed to get into his room. When he saw the other man standing in the middle of the room, still donning his suit, tension in his shoulders and a look in his eye, he saw release.

  
“Come on.” The voice was low and as dangerous as the person it belonged to. Eames pounced, rushing to his side and cupping the slender face in his hands, crushing their lips together and sliding his tongue inside the warm mouth. If Arthur was anything in daily life, he was in control. It gave Eames a unique kind of pleasure to make him lose that control, to make him surrender to his need, to having him mewling in desperation. They somehow end up in the armchair, Eames divested of his purple and orange paisley button-up, and Arthur down to nothing but his immaculately pressed dress shirt and boxers. And here is where they have slowed. Now is the time for the teasing, almost kissing, almost fucking, but just not quite.

It is sinful, the way that Arthur lets go of his professionalism. Here he is in Eames’ lap, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and Eames can smell him, smell his expensive cologne and aftershave. Here he is, pupils dilated, begging silently for friction against his member, for the older man’s hands all over him. He is a vision of sex and they haven’t even had it yet, but God, does Eames want it. He places a small kiss on Arthur’s bottom lip, tugging at it lightly with his teeth but pulling away before the other man has time to respond. He moves downward, nuzzling and kissing his way across his chin, down his neck and Arthur throws his head back, arms draping over Eames’ shoulders lest he fall. Eames finds a spot on smooth, pale flesh and sinks his teeth in, hard enough to leave a very telling mark come morning. Neither care; Arthur’s starched collars will hide it anyways. The gasp that follows is what he needs to hear, what he craves to hear. It’s a sign that the Arthur from work is almost gone, replaced by a creature of desire. Eames loves it. He loves it more than he should and he doesn’t care. He is the only one who can do this to the Point Man; it’s like a prize he hoards to himself. And when he thrusts his hips upwards, he claims that prize as Arthur all but dissolves into him. The Forger’s hands begin to move, undoing the last few buttons on Arthur’s dress shirt, throwing it across the room while his mouth continues its ministrations and abuses to the younger man’s neck. Finger’s curl in his hair, pulling him closer to the pale skin, mussing up the pomade and Eames groans. It is almost too much, the way he touches him, like Arthur has no experience and is only driven by what his body longs for. It might be the case but it was never discussed, not that it needed to BE discussed. And why talk when you can just _DO_?

Eames picks up him and topples them both onto the bed a foot away. Arthur doesn’t protest, object or attempt to overcome the larger man. He is perfect that way. He is without inhibitions now. His fingers reach up and trail roughly over Eames’ tattoos, working their way across his chest through the light hair and downwards, snaking through the belt loops on his pants and yanking his body downward. Their eyes are locked, clouded with lust and it takes every ounce of Eames’ own control to not rip off the boxers and shove his cock inside him. He can’t do it yet. There is no way he’d want to finish so soon. He is above Arthur, propped up on his elbows, yet from the waist down they are aligned. He recommences his mouth’s travels downward, sucking on the protruding collarbones presented to him and there is nothing that Arthur can do except moan. Slowly, Eames’ tongue works over a nipple, teasing it lightly, darting ever-so-softly across the erect and dusky skin there. His fingers splay out over Arthur’s stomach, rubbing strategically across the sweat-slicked skin. He is hot... just so hot. It’s the way he begins to squirm as Eames goes lower, as a tongue swirls into his belly button, as stubble scratches along soft flesh. The soft cotton boxers feel more like a giant concrete fence, preventing Eames’ talented mouth from reaching the center of Arthur’s entire universe. He needn’t worry too long, they are gone in an instant and Arthur doesn’t even know how he can work that fast. Eames looks up just in time to see Arthur chance a glance down at him, hovering over his rigid cock with a smirk that only promised ecstasy.

  
“Darling,” comes the husky voice, one that Eames is proud of, one that he knows has the ability to drive the Point Man to screaming, “this?” His breath is outrageously hot and tantalizing against the member. Arthur swallowed hard, licked his lips and nodded, eyebrows furrowed in anticipation. Eames needed no more encouragement than that. He takes him, all of him, into his mouth. He’s in love with the way Arthur’s hands twist in the sheets, the way his back arches off the bed and his eyes squeeze all the way shut. Eames bobs his head up and down, using his hands to massage the flesh of the cock his lips couldn’t reach. Arthur’s mouth is open in a silent cry, lips plush and swollen still, irresistible to even the most conservative of man. But Eames is not conservative, not in the least and not since he’s known Arthur. Not since he’s taken Arthur’s body as his own and claimed him time and time again. He hums around the aching cock in his mouth and the smaller man lets out a strangled yell, an indicator of pending release and a sign to stop lest he cum. He pulls away, Arthur’s shaft falling out from his lips with a small pop, a filthy noise that sends shivers down his spine. He looks down at this man, sprawled on his bed and it is so sexy Eames is almost unable to bare the sight. There are tendrils of hair that have worked free of Arthur’s immaculate style, plastered to his forehead and he is overwhelming. His cheeks are red and his eyes are dark and everything about him screams “fuck me,” even if his mouth isn’t. And Eames will, because he would be absolutely batshit insane not to.

Their mouths come crashing down on one another, hot and wet and dirty like they both like it, precum still warm in Eames’ mouth. The taste of Arthur is addictive, like a wonderful drug that promises a pleasure no human on Earth could possibly fathom. Their tongues battle for dominance, Arthur’s hands around the back of the Forger’s head, attempting to meld them together at the lips and it is so positively lewd the way he works his tongue in and out of their mouths. He kisses like an expert, like a porn star, eager and tormenting and sending shocks of electricity straight to Eames’ cock. When they finally pull apart, neither can stand the anticipation any longer and the way Arthur is looking at him nearly makes Eames lose his mind.

He spreads the long, thin legs apart like he’s opening a Christmas gift, undoing the zipper to his own dress pants and pushing the fabric of that and his boxers down far enough to free his raging erection. No time for a condom, not patience to fumble with lube; Eames spits on his hand and uses that instead, stroking his member and trying extremely hard not to let loose. Arthur makes an impatient noise, scooting closer on the bed and lifting up his legs, offering himself to Eames like a wanton slut. The Forger takes a moment to appreciate the view, again reminded that it is a rare sight to see Arthur so uninhibited, so alluring and just so fucking _sexy._ However, the throbbing of his dick brings him back to reality, back to the situation at hand and he positions himself at Arthur’s entrance.  
“Eames…” that voice, his name choked out in desperation is something Eames will never tire of hearing. His breathing is hitched and heavy and the older man can tell if he doesn’t enter him now, Arthur may well curl up and die.

  
“Arthur, darling,” he can’t resist a reply, “you are amazing. I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll forget your own name and scream mine. I will pound you into the mattress and ravish you until your voice runs hoarse.” Eames brings his mouth close to the Point Man’s, delaying the satisfaction of charging into his sweet body just a bit longer, just to feel his breath on his lips as he told him all the lewd things they would do together. “I’m going to make you cum harder than you ever have in your life. So hard you won’t be able to cum with anyone other than me. You are mine.” And with that, he thrust hard inside.

  
Arthur wasn’t prepped for it, but then again, he never liked to be. He had told Eames before that pain heightened his pleasure. Eames didn’t question it; on the contrary, he felt the same way. Even now, as he sheathed himself fully inside the thinner man, he could see just how roughly his entrance had been. But it was so tight and so hot and Eames would never get sick of it for as long as he lived. Arthur’s brow furrowed in pain, his eyes slits and his mouth hanging open. It takes a moment before either gain enough composure to move. Arthur wriggled deliciously underneath the larger man, lifting up his legs and wrapping them around Eames’ muscular waist, urging him to move. He reached up and clawed at the Forger’s back, nails scraping across skin, blending the stinging sensation with the mind-blowing pressure around his manhood.

 “Ah…fuck! Eames!” Arthur’s voice piercing through the empty air, interrupting their soft gasps and moans as Eames pulled out almost entirely before slamming ruthlessly back inside. The older man hissed with each thrust and at the sinfully wonderful lilt of pleasure that took note in Arthur’s cry. His fingers gripped the skin of thin hips, hard enough to bruise and make small crescent-shaped nail marks. Each groan erupted louder than the last and Eames’ thrusts became more brutal. Arthur got less silent, screaming to the rooftops that he wanted it more, harder, faster, and mewling out compliments about Eames and his cock and his performance. Everything was “so good.” Everything was “so hot.” Eames’ hips snapped in and out, and to his indescribable happiness, Arthur used his leverage to push back on his cock, timing himself out of instinct for maximum pleasure. This is what Eames needed after a job, to bury himself inside this willing body until he is tired and spent, to rid himself of the excess energy coiled in his gut. He loved that Arthur understood, that he needed it to. Eames lowered his mouth back to the well cherished neckline, inhaling the scent that he had come to associate with sex; one that was so purely _Arthur_ and it drove him wild. They were probably waking the patrons in the neighbouring hotel rooms with their raucous fucking, but the way that Arthur’s insides squeezed him, he couldn’t find time to care.

  
“Fuck me Eames! I need it! I’m so…AH…soo close!” And he was, Eames could feel him tensing up, his ass tightening even more, if possible. The older man angled his thrusts, aiming and striking the Point Man’s prostate with an accuracy that only came from exploring the body many times before. Arthur’s back arched again off the bed, grinding slick skin against slick skin and his entire body shuddered underneath Eames. Their lips crushed messily together one last time as Arthur came, splattering both of their stomachs, tongues imitating the thrusting of Eames’ cock inside his ass. His yelp of climax was muffled by their kiss, but it was enough to send Eames himself over the edge. He pounded in the lithe body until he was utterly spent, attempting to even out his breathing before he collapsed on top of Arthur.

Together, they lay there, limbs entangled and panting out of sheer, sexual exertion. Neither said anything because no words were needed. Arthur gently shoved the larger man off of him after a while, moving to just rest beside him. Eames knows it won’t belong before he gets up, cleans himself off and leaves. Arthur would be back in control soon. He knew the walls would come back up and he’d be distant and methodical as usual. It was an unspoken agreement. Eames would tease him and call him “Darling” the way he likes to, and Arthur would ignore him, only keeping tabs until their next job together. But at least for this moment, Arthur lets him in, lets HIM take control, take his body. He lets Eames ravage the tension from both of their bodies, with no protest or objections. And they both like it. They both _love_ it.


End file.
